Indian Giver
Bang. Yelling. Footsteps, running away. I try to open my eyes, but the lids are too heavy. What's going on?
Another bang. More movement. The warmth that was around my legs must have been a person, because it's gone now. Bomber. Was it her? Someone said her name, I think. My head's all fuzzy. Damn concussion. Why am I always the one to get knocked out?
Voices. X is talking to… Buffer? Bravo-82, ohhh, over the radio. A distraction? I really need to see, but my eyes won't open without help and my arms are too heavy to move. I hear breathing, getting faster. Someone – X? – is scared, close to panicking.
A scream, and the floor shakes violently. I force my eyes open for a single, blurry moment. Yellow and red. The second look I can see a little more; blonde hair and a red shirt. Blonde… X! She's wearing her uniform, so the red shirt must not be hers. Someone's attacking the X! This time my eyes stay open, though it takes all my concentration to do so. She's struggling with the guy… the shirt is actually a hoodie; the hood is up, so I can't see who it is.
My hearing comes back, and I hear her yell, "get off me!" Weird, I didn't even notice I'd gone temporarily deaf. Too busy rediscovering my sight, I guess.
She's gasping – he's choking her! Her arms are flailing uselessly, but they do sweep the hood off. It's that guy… the one wh-Campbell Fulton! That's his name! He's the one who caused the throbbing that's still ringing in my ears. How did I not see the red hoodie? What kind of idiot tries to hide on an island in red?
My body moves of its own accord, tackling the guy off her. I have the upper hand for a moment, using all my strength to try and press him against the sand. But he's still on his knees, so it doesn't work too well. Or at all. I've barely stood up before I'm on the ground again. This time he's on top of me… his touch is so different to Bomber's gentle one. A hand closes over my throat. Time slows as he presses down, cutting off my air.
I don't even need to try and make my arms move this time; the instant my back hits the sand they're up, tugging at any piece of him they can get a hold of. Figures they'd start doing stuff when I don't even ask them to.
His eyes are like empty, black holes. No, not black. Navy blue… wait, green. Why do they keep changing colours? I can't breathe properly; clawing at his hands around my neck does nothing. His eyes remain dead, hell, his entire face shows no emotion, even as he wrinkles his nose with effort.
Slowly, the fingers tighten around my neck, despite my own desperate attempts to loosen the grip. My chest is heaving, but I can't draw in any air… and he smirks. It's only a faint movement of his lips, but in that moment I know. He's the murderer. Not just the army sentry, but the divers also. ET.
My lungs are screaming for oxygen; the edges of my vision are going black. Someone's coming… how do I know that? "Stay where you are!" Oh, the radio. I guess my ears don't need air to work properly.
He's breathing heavily right in my face; his breath stinks. All my strength is gone, but my mind is still on overdrive. Fulton is the one who took my friend away from me, from all of us. It's his fault; Swain's anger, Charge's overeating, 2Dads... well, him being on the ship at all.
The grip on my neck loosens. Why would he do that? Isn't he trying to kill me? He takes one hand off entirely – I can see it next to his face. He's going to let me live, he's letting me go. Unlike ET.
And Nav. A fresh wave of energy surges through me at the thought. Everything she's been through; the tears, the yelling, the pain. My friend will never be the same, and it's because of him.
Someone growls, close by. Fulton's face looks shocked as I buck my legs and throw him off balance. The growling continues while I pin him down, but stops when I take a breath. It was me. I can't remember the last time I was literally growling in anger.
The shock's gone, replaced by an unadulterated fury. It's oddly calming. He's not going to get away, he'll pay for what he did.
Everything seems to be in slow motion. It takes an age for his fist to come up towards my face, and it's easy to dodge the punch. I grab his wrists and hold them above his head with one hand. Interesting… I wouldn't have thought my hands were that big.
My punch doesn't miss. The feel of his nose giving way under my knuckles is extremely satisfying. Bright red blood spurts from both nostrils, trickling down his chin and blending with his hoodie. Another punch. Something else cracks, probably his cheekbone.
There's emotion in his eyes now – pain. Good. After what he put Nav through, he deserves everything we can dish out.
Water splashes nearby. Oh right, we're on the beach. Drowning is apparently a very painful way to die. ET was killed that way. I could do the same to Fulton… but I can't see how far away the sea is; it's too dark.
Something wet touches my palm… what is tha-oh. My hand is over his mouth. And, ew, he's just stuck his tongue out. That's okay, I can play dirty too. I glower at him with all the hatred I can muster as my hand trails down to his neck, fingers streaking the blood on his chin as they move.
His expression doesn't change for a few moments, despite my hand tightening around his throat. He doesn't think I have the guts to do it. Then he starts gasping for air, and I don't know if I do either.
Nav's face when we found ET, her eyes begging us to tell her it's not true. Buffer's, as he zips up the body bag with ET's body in it. Images of grief, all caused by the man below me. The half-smile, which is all that remains of Nav's trademark grin these days. I can do this. I have to. For Nav.
I think he can see the renewed determination in my eyes, because all of a sudden his face changes, and he starts struggling. But it doesn't matter. I'm in total control now. My other hand releases his wrists to join its partner on his neck, slowly cutting off his air supply. It needs to be drawn out; he has to suffer. He doesn't understand what he's done, the beautiful thing he's destroyed. And I'm not talking about ET.
The flailing legs gradually lose momentum, and his arms slide off mine. I barely hear the dull thud that sounds as they hit the sand. His face is turning a strange colour, a cross between red and purple. Beetroot. That's the colour. God, Bomber's influence is getting to me. Since when do guys use food to describe a colour?
My fingers continue to press into his neck, and I can tell there will be bruises. Whoa. Bruises the size and shape of my fingers. That's kind of creepy. There are already red marks on the skin, where my nails are digging in.
"Spider." I hear my name, but don't recognise the voice.
Someone pulls at my shoulder, jolting my grip for a second, but I shrug them off. I have to finish this. Looking up, I can just barely make out the outline of Hammersley. Though I have no clue where she is, I stare at the light emanating from the bridge. This is for you, Nav.
More shouts. It could be my name – sounds kind of like Buff and Swain. My fingers squeeze slightly tighter. I won't let them interrupt me. I have to do this.
His eyes have rolled back in his head, so all I can see are the whites. A few more seconds and he goes completely limp. I think he's dead. But I can't let go, just in case I'm wrong. He can't get away.
Eventually my hands starts to hurt, and I have to loosen my grip. When his head hits the floor, his mouth drops open and his tongue lolls out. He's definitely dead.
Oh my God, I killed him.
It's not like I haven't killed people before. But it's one thing to shoot someone from far away, when I've only seen them through the EOD or the scope of my Steyr. This is different. I've met Fulton, spoken to him, shared meals with him. Now he's dead, literally by my hand. I'm still sitting on top of him. Talk about up close and personal.
He deserves it, of course he does – he killed ET, and caused so much hurt to the people I care about. But… no, he's not worthy of pity. Nav trying to smile as a tear trickles down her cheek, skin already stained with tracks of earlier ones. He caused that.
"Spider! Are you okay?" Am I okay? Do they not see the body? The lifelessness that I caused?
There's another pull at my shoulder, this one more insistent. I move off the body, but stumble when I try to stand up straight. Dizziness is creeping back in as the adrenaline drains away.
No-one's reacting to the body, they seem to be more concerned about me. I just killed a man, and all my crewmates care about is whether I'm hurt.
I'm suddenly very sleepy. My eyelids close by themselves, but someone slaps me on the cheek and they fly open again. Why can't they just let me sleep!
An annoying little light is waving in front of my eyes. Bomber's holding a torch – must be playing medic. But why is everyone worrying about me? I don't want their sympathy. Fulton deserved to die, Nav's voice tells me. I know she's not on the beach, so it must be in my head. Thank you for doing that for me.
I smile and open my mouth to reply, but hear X yelling.
"It was Fulton. He is the murderer." Well, duh, why does she think I killed him? I turn my head to see the body… what? Where did it go? No-one's been near me except X and Bomber, how would they have moved it without me noticing?
"But… Bomber, where's Fulton?" The words are mumbled and barely audible, but using Bomber's name helps – she leans close to listen.
I don't understand the expression on her face. Why would she look so defeated? The murderer is dead.
She opens her mouth, then hesitates. What's so bad? Why the stopping? I prod her in the thigh, the only part of her body my hand can reach. Why are my arms so heavy? Oh, right, stupid concussion. Damn Fulton. I'm glad he's dead.
"Fulton… he got away, Spide."